She died before her death
But no one noticed

I thought if I could swallow the stars
I’d be as beautiful as the evening sky
I tried one night    with fireflies
They burned my throat
Their legs striking at soft flesh
But my skin did not glow
No moon crawled from my eye sockets
I was left with corpses in my stomach
I soon learned I would only ever be
A cemetery

Made up of the dust
Of life's journey.
Picking up the bits
Swirling about me.
Soaking into me
The strength made
From events beyond
My control.
Sparkled with the joy
Of the unexpected happiness
Of life's great blessings.
At the end washed from me
So that I am cleansed
And rinsed onto my love ones
As a memory of what was.

Hearts are funny things
I feel mine rise and fall, jarred
like captured summer fruit
fat in syrup
some days
others, pickled sharp
and tucked away in acetic darkness